


I never thought I’d be the one (to be saving you)

by fleaflofloyd



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:28:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23153266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleaflofloyd/pseuds/fleaflofloyd
Summary: 'Just save me the bigger slice,' she'd told her.'Will do, boss.' Valerie had smiled, in her cheeky way.
Relationships: Lucille Anderson/Valerie Dyer
Comments: 35
Kudos: 85





	1. I never thought I’d be the one (to be saving you)

**Author's Note:**

> (Title from 'This is not a drill' by Lanterns On The Lake.
> 
> Imperial measurements used.)

The weight of it has become familiar enough to her now, hidden away, her knowledge of it the only in the world.

Up until now, she'd decided it would stay that way, but--

The fireworks had lit up her eyes three nights ago, and it's all Val's thought about since.

_Okay, Gran._

_I'll do it._

Tonight, over brandy and a slice of pud and custard.

Resolute in her decision, she never sees the car coming.

\---

Lucille's making sure Mr Blackwell has understood the importance of letting his wife rest with baby Jonathan, especially with Christmas days away, when the sound of screeching tyres pierces the late-night quiet. He looks at her confused, glancing towards the front door, as her mind resets and restarts with the knowledge that Valerie has just --

She's out the door before she comprehends the cold, the need for her coat and cape, for --

There's a car stopped at the next corner, door open. A man is staggering towards a form lying in the road, arms reaching out and stopping in frozen horror.

There's a bike wheel still spinning in the headlights.

"Telephone for an ambulance!" Lucille shouts as she keeps running, heart thundering in her ears.

_Please, God._

_Not Val._

\---

She scrapes her knee on the asphalt as she skids to a stop at Valerie's head. Feels the pain sear the way it did the night she'd gotten stuck in the snowstorm before Valerie had --

Lucille shakes the memory and pain away and concentrates on listening for Valerie's breathing. Feels the grip on her heart ease as she finds her pulse. It's weak. There's blood, wet and sticky on the left side of her head, a wound hidden amongst her hair. Her leg is at the wrong angle, surely broken in multiple spots. Her coat and cape are in the way, concealing any other injuries from Lucille's eyes.

"How fast were you going?" she asks the man, looking up, realising she's interrupting words she hasn't heard him say in his panic. In her panic.

"She came out in front--"

"How fast?" She asks again, firmer.

"Maybe twenty-two. I was under the speed limit, nurse. I swear on my mother's life I was."

Lucille looks at the crack in the car's windshield.

_Head wound. Concussion._

She shifts to Val's left side, lifting her cape away as much as possible for any signs of a broken arm. Gently feels along the bones and around the elbow.

_Intact. Good._

There's internal bleeding she has to check for.

She can't get a clear picture with all this material in the--

_Don't move her_ , she chides herself.

There are others approaching, voices nearing her.

Lucille looks at the two closest women. "I need you to fetch lots of blankets and towels, please as quick as you can, and someone needs to sit with--" She looks at the driver, "Sir, I didn't get your name."

"Colin Ridge."

"Someone needs to sit on the curb with Mr Ridge in case he goes into--" 

"Lu..."

Lucille's head snaps down to find Valerie's eyes fluttering, fighting for consciousness. She's shifting a little, and its the last thing she should be doing.

"Valerie," She settles a hand over where Val's heart is, enough for her to know she's there and leans over her. "I need you to keep as still as you can for me, can you do that, precious?"

"Hurs..."

_Slurring. Unfocused eyes._

Val's still moving. She's in danger of irreparable damage if she--

Lucille quickly shifts back above Val's head and braces her hands around her friend's ears, keeping her neck still as she meets her eyes upside down. The blood along Val's temple gets on her skin and sweater.

"Nurse Dyer," she states emphatically, hoping firmness will jog something from Val's army days in her. "You are to remain absolutely motionless while I look at you, and are not to move again until I say so, do you understand?"

The fidgeting stops. Blue eyes, dazed and suffering, look her way but don't see her. Her breathing is coming in short lengths, and Lucille _realises_.

A cold settles into her bones, as sharp as the cold air around her.

"Does it hurt to breathe Val?"

There's a slow blinking of eyes. Lucille takes it as acknowledgement.

_A broken rib. Ribs._

Or--

She sets two fingers along Valerie's neck. Finds her pulse has sped up significantly. It's racing.

_Pneumothorax_.

This is going to get worse.

"Ledder...po--"

"Ssh now precious, I just need you to stay calm. You're gonna be fine."

It's uncertain at best, a bald-faced lie at worst, and she'll always remember the ease with which she says it.

_God forgive me._

_\---_

Mr Blackwell rushes forward two minutes later to tell her the ambulance is fifteen minutes away.

_Val doesn't have--_

She keeps her hands still but lifts her thumbs, pressing them over Valerie's ears, trying to block out what she's about to say on the off chance Valerie understands and panics.

"Call them back, tell them there's severe respiratory difficulty with oncoming tension pneumothorax, suspected internal bleeding, broken tibia and fibula..."

It's too much of a jumble of words, she realises.

"Tell them its tension pneumothorax and to hurry. They need to get ready for surgery as well."

He repeats it back to her as he steps away. She nods. 

There's definite wheezing now as Valerie struggles to breathe, and her eyes are on the wrong side of glassy.

Her body's going into shock.

She has to do something now. She's probably got five minutes, before--

_No._

_Don't think of..._

She draws her mind back instead, remembering what she needs.

_Tension pneumothorax. An incision needs to be made in the intercostal space of the thoracic cage and a tube inserted into the pleural area to draw trapped air and other substances out._

She can't do anything about the broken ribs, but she can ease the pressure on Valerie's lung.

Lucille looks up at the crowd. "I need someone to retrieve the kit on the back of Nurse Dyer's bike--and the light from the front, it clips off near the handlebar." She sees movement towards it. "I also need someone to take over my spot holding Val's neck--this is incredibly important so very stable hands, please."

A bespectacled woman with short hair steps forward. "I'm a machinist at Dagenham, Nurse. Holly Lifton. I've got the steadiest hands this side of the river, bar a surgeon's."

Lucille sighs, relieved for a moment. The woman's rugged up in her dressing gown, coat, pyjamas and gumboots, ready for the job.

_Thank you._

"Okay," Lucille starts. "Come to my right side and place your hand over mine. You need to keep the neck in line and the head still. I'm sorry about the blood."

She follows her instructions, carefully bending until she's down on her knees and elbows, both hands cupped carefully around Valerie's head as Lucille eases herself away.

"Good work, Miss Lifton."

"Please call me Holly--the only person does that is my--well, no matter."

"Of course. No moving now, Holly. Nurse Dyer's very badly injured, so we're both responsible for how well she gets out of this."

She nods solemnly.

The kit and bike light are placed beside her by a younger couple.

"Thank you."

Lucille pulls out the scissors, scalpel, the suction tube and a pair of gloves. She'd read about this procedure in a medical journal, probably eighteen months ago now. Usually performed in a sterile hospital room by specialist doctors.

She's just a nurse.

The cold sinks further into her as she cuts through clothes, discovering Val's left side blooming with red and purple. Colours that were dangerous and angry.

There's swelling. Valerie groans in pain at her touch.

Lucille's never felt more useless.

There's a commotion suddenly, and then blankets and towels are being administered to Val by the kind women from before.

Two are placed over her own back, and Lucille takes it as a sign to keep going.

"Stay close, please," she says blindly to the brunette woman beside her. "Get the towels ready--" She looks at the other woman, a blonde. "I need you to hold the light on where I'm going to cut. Come round this side for me, please."

"Of course, Nurse. Whatever you need."

She sets her instruments up on the newest towel available. Cuts the tube to the right length.

_Dear Lord, please help me._

\---

Valerie bleeds too much for the incision, Lucille's surgical gloves staining red as the blonde woman swears.

_No._

_No._

"Come on, Val."

Lucille cuts deeper, into the intercostal muscles, blood in the way, her grip slipping on the scalpel, once, twice.

_Hurry._

The women seem to understand the severity of the situation, pressing towels tighter and lights closer.

She keeps slicing; feels the tension of muscles against the blade; feels the tension give way to something else. It's the pleural sac.

Lucille grabs the tubing and holds it close to the incision, knuckle resting on the nearby muscle as she steadies the scalpel and herself.

_Please._

She nicks the sac and inserts the tube end quickly; hears the telltale sound of air leaving through it, along with reddish fluid.

"Fresh towel around the tube and press down firmly, please."

It's done.

Lucille leans over Valerie, hand on her chest; holds her breath and listens.

The crowd stands guard, silent and unmoving.

Valerie's breathing lengthens, then deepens, the wheezing dissipating as her nurse watch ticks away.

She's bought her some time.

Lucille feels an invisible weight lessen on her chest.

"It's working," she says to no one in particular.

The crowd erupts in cheers and questions, the three women around her praising her.

All Lucille hears is the spaces in between.

Valerie, and the distant sound of sirens.

\---

Her hands start shaking as she loses sight of Valerie through the white operating doors of Saint Cuthberts. She knows it's the adrenaline leaving her body in a cold rush. Her efforts in an official capacity had ended as she'd gotten into the front seat of the ambulance, but now her body's catching up with the gravity of the situation.

She'd heard confirmation after confirmation from the medics of what she'd suspected. Fractures to both leg bones. Concussion. Three broken ribs, one puncturing the left lung. The tubing at Valerie's side had stayed, immobilised with fresh bandages. She'd helped get a neck brace on her. Time would tell if there was damage there. Her leg had been splinted. All done in a matter of minutes.

It's what she'd given them.

The swelling and internal bleeding was--

Lucille lets out a shuddering breath. Barely manages to get to a nearby seat before the weight of her entire body collapses in on itself.

She'd sent her home early. Had said at least one of them should get back for Christmas pudding before Sister Monica Joan inevitably absconded with the remainder.

_'Just save me the bigger slice,'_ she'd told her.

_'Will do, boss.'_ Valerie had smiled, in her cheeky way.

And now--

Her hands continue to tremble, dried blood discolouring the skin of her hand and arms. The gloves had kept most of the blood from her, but she'd only slipped them on, not pulled them up her arms as she'd normally do. It's underneath her nails on her left hand. Just above the grooves of both her wrists.

On her sleeve.

She needs to wash it desperately.

She knows her legs won't get her anywhere near a sink.

She sees that smile now, holds it close in her mind as the trembling creeps up her arms to her body.

Valerie had smiled, in a moment of lightness; the kind Lucille was used to seeing before the Dyer misfortunes had plagued her friend.

Her eyes well up with tears at that smile and Lucille wipes at them furiously, wetness merging with red in smudged watercolour.

Sister Julienne had stipulated Val shadow the rest of them for a week, to get back into the routine of things after her lengthy absence. Valerie had understood and taken it in her stride. Her grief for her grandmother had steadied but a certain level of concentration was necessary for nursing and --

The driver said Val had ridden right out in front of him.

Lucille swallows thickly, blinking to dispel the water at her eyes.

She can't stop shaking.

\---

The silence is broken by the swinging of the double doors down the hallway. Lucille startles at the noise, looking up to see Sister Julienne, Phyllis and Trixie rushing her way.

She stands to meet them when she feels her head swim, blindly reaching for the wall.

A moment later someone takes her hand.

"Sit back down," Phyllis says, worry evident.

Lucille does as she's told as the older women sit beside her, her hand remaining in Phyllis's warm one.

"Your knee..." Trixie kneels in front of her, politely folding Lucille's uniform hem and eyeing the wound.

"It doesn't..." her voice trails off.

_Hurt. Matter._

Not in the grand scheme of things. It's nowhere near what has gone wrong tonight.

"It's not bothering me," she tells them.

Trixie must hear a finality to her words because she lets it go, and sits back on her legs.

"Are Nurse Dyer's injuries as bad as Sergeant Cooper has led me--us--to believe?" Sister Julienne's eyes find her bloodstained arms.

"Her leg is badly broken. I had to cut into her chest to ease the pressure building on her lung. The bleeding was...I don't know if--"

Her voice breaks and she clears her throat quickly, fighting down the lump there as the tears spring forth.

Phyllis squeezes her hand. "She's made of tougher stuff than this, Lucille."

Lucille's mind flashes to Barbara, in those last few days in this place. Remembers Pastor Hereward absolutely lost afterwards.

And she remembers Valerie, warm hand on her shoulder, beside the fireplace when he'd returned to Nonnatus to tell them Barbara was gone. Her quiet dignity, even though Lucille knew she was grieving.

She'd seen that same silent perseverance this last month. Had admired her for it.

It was beautiful in a heartbreaking kind of way.

_Like her_ , she thinks all of a--

"Lucille?"

She takes in Trixie's voice, looking to her. "Sorry."

"I think it might be time to get you cleaned up," Sister Julienne says.

A deep sense of dread shoots through her. "No, no--I need to--"

"There's nothing more you can do here," Phyllis states. "You've had a terrible fright, and you need to get some tea and food into you before you end up in here as well. I brought some of your clothes in the car, in case you needed them."

Lucille goes to protest, but Sister Julienne cuts her off. 

"As much as I commend you on your quick thinking tonight Nurse Anderson, I must insist that you have some respite for your nerves. I will stay here in your place, Dr Turner is on his way, and we shall relay any news to you."

Too much has happened tonight for her to fight another battle.

Lucille exhales and closes her eyes.

She feels Phyllis squeeze her hand again, and Trixie's palm on her uninjured knee.

_Come on, chick._

Valerie's voice in her head, soothing, helps her relent.

\---


	2. Right there in the ink (I think I finally talked to you)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The days grow long.
> 
> She witnesses her Gran suffer more.
> 
> All she can do is watch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'When It All Comes True' from Lanterns On The Lake. Check out their latest record if you want a soundtrack to these near-end times.
> 
> Jared Harris as inspiration for you'll find out.
> 
> I'm not sure if this fits into the spaces of the canon we were given in 9x08. Up to you to decide if it does or if this is more of a companion piece or somewhat alternative au. Tell us in the comments, eh?
> 
> Thanks for reading. Comments, clever anecdotes and all utter chaos welcome.
> 
> \----------------------------------------------------------------------

She's in the middle of reheating Mrs Turner's soup for herself when she hears Gran say her name.

Valerie turns, ready to gently chide her back to slumber - especially after the work they'd put into the steps today - when the look on the older woman's face catches her off guard.

"I won't be here to see ya find someone special to settle down with."

The wooden spoon in Valerie's hand stills as her breath catches.

"You should be resting, Gran."

"Don't go changin' the subject like you always do," Elsie admonishes, clearing her throat. "Stir that soup or it'll burn."

Valerie turns back to her task. Stirs it in the silence. 

She's doesn't want to have this conversation. She turns the stove down and stirs and stirs and stirs, way past the point of it being heated.

The silence is broken by a snore.

The cancer's won the argument for her. 

She has three mouthfuls of the soup before she pours the rest down the sink.

\---

Valerie busies herself with the cleaning, taking direction from her Gran, wiping down the sink and the window frame and mopping the floor. Dusting through cobwebs and in dark corners. She's hardly finished one task before there's another to do again.

Maybe she's distracting herself from what's coming.

Her Aunt shows up again, a box full of cooked food in her arms, trying to bribe her way into the flat.

"You were told. I'm sorry, Aunty Flo."

And she is. She really is.

But her Gran has decided this is Valerie's to bear alone.

She'll respect that.

Even if it's going to hurt.

\---

"You were such a good little girl."

Valerie pauses the brush in her Gran's hair, smiling.

"Your sisters we're right lil' shits, always getting into things they shouldn't, but you were lovely." Elsie coughs, phlegmy and pained. "Like Charlie."

She hasn't heard his name pass her lips in--

Val continues her ministrations, gently, so as not to hurt.

"You never talk about him," she says quietly.

Her Gran hums. "He made his choices."

Valerie knows there's more to the story. He's been talked around in memories since she was eleven, conversations stalling, subjects abruptly changing when words got too close to whatever happened.

She remembers his kindness. His silliness. Him always there for a hug. How his were the best.

She's never had the gall to ask her Mum, to voice her suspicion.

She's put her own nonsense away, left it in the army where it belonged.

Gotten over it.

Pushed it down.

"I always loved you brushing my hair," Valerie says, sliding the brush softy behind her Gran's ear.

Her Gran smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes.

\---

They argue.

About Elsie taking the morphine. About the new mattress.

For the simple reason her Gran needs a distraction from the pain.

She keeps her vexation in check; lets it out in her tears late at night when she's the only one awake.

But today.

Today has been a day.

Maureen trying to visit and her hurtful words when turned away; burning her blouse with the iron as her mind wandered; the fact that her period's due in three days.

So Valerie bites back, her grief about her Gran's impending death spilling over into anger.

"You can be a stubborn old bat sometimes."

Her grandmother looks shocked for a brief moment before she rises to the occasion. "Don't you disrespect me in my own home."

"I'm trying to take care of you. If you'd realise that and do what Doctor--"

"Oh, have off with the 'doctor' garbage already. I'm not havin' it, Valerie."

"You're being pig-headed."

"Well, you'll just have to bear it. What you see is what you get."

Valerie hears the unsaid _unlike some_ and something flares in her chest. She slams her hand down on the table, the sting shooting up her arm.

"Leave it alone, Gran."

"No, Val." Elsie rubs at her shoulder. "I'm on my way out and you still won't be--"

"What? Honest? It doesn't matter."

"You came home after that inquiry and spent the next week drunker than Old man Rafferty on St Patrick's."

This again.

"I was bullied out of my--"

"I know," Elsie interrupts. It's clear she's in pain. "It's all you ever say. How bout the stuff you told me, that night you got drunk and smashed up the Sail? Or am I gonna die before we do?"

_Sally Spencer kissed me when we were twelve, Gran._

_It felt right. It was right._

_She was there, trying to be a nurse just like me._

_Sister Caroline knew, somehow--_

_That's why she bullied me, that why I could never do anything right by her._

_She did the same to Sally._

_Sally left and I tried. I tried to hold out and do the right thing._

_I tried to be normal._

_Why'd she pick on me? Why'd she do that, Gran?_

"Sister Caroline picked on me because I was from Poplar," Valerie states again, eyes watering.

"You were heartbroken when Sally's folks moved away and you were heartbroken when you got home."

She had been. For months. 

"What does it matter? It's in the past."

"It's not in the past, Val. For goodness sake, be honest with yourself."

"Then be honest about Uncle Charlie."

Her grandmother stills. Shifts painfully on the bed. Valerie will drop the conversation if she does. Leave the question hanging.

"Come sit," Elsie says, patting the bed beside her.

Valerie feels all the anger leave her. She brushes at her eyes and takes her place facing her Gran, smoothing down the blanket between them.

"Charlie was...he wasn't what your grandad wanted in a son. He was a sickly child--afflicted with his asthma, but y'know that. Small. Preferred books to playing outside. It was...Royce and me used to argue about it some, until Pete came along. Then your grandad let him be. Had the perfect son in Petey. I know that always hurt Charlie."

Valerie's silent, picking at a thread. 

"Your uncle kept to himself. He was happy sorting mail at the post office. He and your Mum got along best out of the five of 'em. Saw him every Thursday at the pub for a pint and pie."

"Until he up and disappeared," Val says, looking to her Gran. "Wasn't at the Sail after that. I was gonna tell him about winning oranges and lemons at school that week."

Elsie sighs. Closes her eyes. The conversation has worn her out. Val shouldn't have blown up at her Gran, not in this state.

Not when she's dying.

Valerie exhales sharply, moving to stand.

Her hand is grabbed suddenly and held. She remains.

She knows the word is coming. She's known it since she asked after him. She feels like running from it, should the word tarnish her as well.

All she can manage to do is look away.

"Your Uncle Charlie is a homosexual." 

Against her instincts, she sits there. She sits there in the silence, in her memories, in her heartbreak.

_It felt right._

It had. 

And she'd locked it away.

Kept it to herself. Kept to herself. 

Just like Uncle Charlie.

"I know," Valerie whispers.

Her hand is squeezed.

"Look at me, Val."

Tears are blurring her vision. "I can't."

"Yes, you can. I'm still your silly granny who sticks her nose in your ice cream."

Val laughs, then she's crying, dropping forward to her Gran's chest.

Warm arms still welcome her.

\---

The days grow long.

She witnesses her Gran suffer more.

All she can do is watch.

\---

"Tell her Val."

Valerie looks up from her book, pulled away from a tattered copy of Agatha Christie at the table by her grandmother's soft, strained voice. She's half asleep, half delirious.

"Who?"

"You always talked about...before pris--at the bingo."

_Lucille._

It can only be her.

"It's not like that, Gran."

"Bollocks." 

Elsie swallows, then stills, lost to slumber once more.

Valerie returns to Poirot _._ Reads the same paragraph five times before giving up.

\---

Her mind replays her Gran's suggestion when she can't sleep.

The frequency with which she can't turn her mind off increases as her Gran grows worse.

\---

She thinks of the flash of red coming through the Nonnatus front door, snow sprinkled and hurried, Lucille's smile quick despite the weather.

Kindness in the face of judgement. Her reaching for Val's hand and squeezing. Making sure she feels welcome, with slices of home. That grin and wink. Cups of tea offered. Toast prepared in the morning or after a difficult night. Sneaking rum into their hot chocolate. Encouragement. Meeting each other halfway. Reading together.

Time on the couch. Laughter. Support. The warmth of Lucille and that fire as her heart ached for Barbara. Fish and chips on a shared night off. Reading each other's minds during complicated births. 

_You look...exactly like you._

How the word _beautiful_ had come to mind. Reaching for her elbow. Reaching for her. Small passing touches.

Understanding when Val's own family didn't. Seeking her out for consolation. For a kind, reassuring word. 

Her hand held in the chapel.

_You always talked about...before pris--at the bingo._

Her Gran remembered phone calls and visits spent discussing the broken down train. People's prejudices. The amazing Caribbean food. Talk of tampons and monthly's and arguments. Lucille's wonderful singing in the face of the fact that Valerie could never hold a tune.

Her mind had known immediately.

There was something in that.

Valerie feels her heart race. Can't get it to slow until she's outside, on her third cigarette and shivering in the cold.

\--

She's cleaning quietly, proficiently now that she's not sure she'll get a chance to later, when the broom clips something under the headboard of the bed.

Her eyes jump to her Gran.

There's no need to.

She's frail. Medicated finally.

Valerie bends to see what the obstruction is. Sees a wooden box tucked up out of sight.

She hooks the broom around it and drags it out, finding an inch of dust on the top. Her Gran had said not to bother sweeping under the bed. Had insisted on it.

Her heart sinks.

_Not more blood money._

She cleans the dust off it and sets it on the floor, out of her Gran's eye line.

Leaves it alone.

Too many things have been brought to the surface lately.

It makes her ache.

\---

Her curiosity hits its precipice just as she's making herself eat someone's Irish stew for dinner. 

She huffs out a humourless chuckle at the memory of her Dad bellowing at her and her sisters, wrapped Christmas presents discovered and ripped in the cupboard. Oh, they'd copped it that Christmas.

But her father's gone. Her Mum's in Frinton, not here to soothe her the way she did after the three of them had killed the curious cat.

Her Gran is--

Withering away.

So she places the box on the table and opens it.

There's no money in it.

There are a half dozen envelopes there instead, addressed to Charles Dyer, in her Gran's cursive handwriting. Address the care of the St Albans post office. 

They're all stamped 'return to sender'. Unopened.

_He made his choices._

Valerie realises her Gran has known his whereabouts this whole time. Had tried to get in contact with him.

He must've gotten a transfer. Surely stamped them himself.

The last in the pile has _please don't contact me again_ scribbled in the corner.

Valerie sits at the table for hours afterwards. 

She runs her mind over her recollections of him. Of whispered words and an empty seat at the Sail.

Thinks of Lucille.

Thinks of the fact she's kept anything even resembling a romantic feeling towards her away from herself.

And it's still crept in.

It's past midnight by the time she takes the blank pieces of paper, a spare envelope, and the pencil her Gran must've used from the bottom of the box.

She starts writing to Lucille.

To get it out of herself.

\---

The envelope's tucked up on the top shelf in the kitchen, along with the box, when Lucille comes to nurse her Gran in the last days.

"Its her," Elsie manages, weak, when they have a moment to themselves.

Valerie hears the weight of multiple meanings merge into one as she says:

"Yes. It's her."

It's not until she reaches for Lucille's hand over her Gran and is denied, that she realises how mistaken she's been.

It stings. 

It sinks into her gut beside the knowledge she's just about to lose the only person who has ever truly known her.

\---

The ice cream's just as cold afterwards, running down her hand in the sudden heat of the flat.

\---

She grieves.

It's what she has left.

\---

The letter gets folded up and tucked down into her pocket each morning. Hidden under her mattress every night. The envelope losses its stiffness, dog ears appearing and creases spreading.

It stays sealed.

She doesn't need to read it.

She feels it off by heart.

\---

"I've run out of cocoa," Trixie exclaims beside her, loosening her grip on Val's arm. "Another round for you two?"

Valerie shakes her head as she hands her cup to her friend. "The lav'll be a long cold walk tonight if I do. I've had enough late nights anyhow."

"Still got a bit here," Lucille says, shuffling closer to Val in silent support.

Trixie offers a small smile to them before retreating towards Nonnatus.

A particularly bright firework lights up the sky, the two of them cooing.

"So," Valerie starts, looking at her companion. "On a scale of one to ten, how cold are you right now?"

Lucille chuckles and meets her eyes. "It would probably be a four if you weren't here."

Her heart skips. "My mother always said I was a hot water bottle."

Lucille grins and sips at her drink. Grows thoughtful under Valerie's gaze. "Despite the circumstances, I'm glad you and your mother got to spend some time together."

Valerie looks up at the sky and marvels at the colours. It had been nice seeing her Mum and Aunt Edie. Sarah had sent her condolences from Washington and Jeanette had phoned from Sydney. Most of the rest of the Dyer clan had made the funeral. She'd been largely left alone, bar a few nasty comments whispered within earshot.

Maybe now that her grandmother was dead, they'd get over it.

She wasn't going to hold her--

"Cyril told me he loved me this afternoon."

Lucille's voice cuts through her thought. Val looks down at her to find she's gazing upwards, an unreadable expression on her face.

She looks over at him, chatting with Mrs Buckle.

He's a good man.

Good for Lucille.

"Did you say it back?" She asks quietly, proud of how level she keeps her voice.

A flicker of sadness crosses Lucille's face before it's gone. Before it's schooled back into wonderment at the light show above.

Valerie turns her gaze upwards. Greens and whites and reds and blues sparkle in front of her eyes.

She will not do this.

She will not hope.

_Do what's right._

She says what she thinks Lucille needs to hear. 

"I'm sure you'll feel it soon, Luce..."

Brown eyes drop to meet hers, and her heart stops beating.

The moment stretches on, the people around her disappearing, all manner of sound drifting away.

All that exists is Lucille Anderson and the kaleidoscope colours in her eyes.

\---

_Okay, Gran._

_I'll do it._

\---

"Ledder...po--"


	3. When your begging pleas (fall on deaf ears of the Gods you need)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She picks it up and looks at the dried blood on the corner. At the creases and folds in the envelope. Valerie's kept it in more than just her uniform pocket, she realises. She's kept it close.
> 
> _What on earth's so important you couldn't just tell me?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Blue Screen Beams' by Lanterns On The Lake.
> 
> My apologies if you've been caught up by my misspellings. Also the Ao3 format can be janky af so I'm sorry for that. I've done my best to do a little research into medical practices of the 1960's as well. Any mistakes are mine alone.
> 
> Comments welcome as usual. 
> 
> Thank you for your lovely words on twitter, tumblr and here. I write for myself, but I've also taken a huge amount of inspiration from your words, your twitter ramblings, your gifs and your general craziness.
> 
> Keep it up, please.
> 
> \--------------------

Time ticks by.

Her friends fall asleep, one by one, in the uncomfortable chairs.

She stands and paces the hallway when she feels the tendrils of sleep crawl close. Rubs at her eyes to ward off the exhaustion.

Her scraped knee stings with every step, despite the bandage.

She will not close her eyes.

Not until she knows.

\---

She prays in between thoughts of Valerie.

Clasps fresh hands together and bends in her seat.

Over and over again in her head.

Her only accompaniment is Phyllis's soft snoring beside her, oddly melodic and comforting.

\---

"--derson."

She's jolted back into bright artificial light, Doctor Turner suddenly there, his hand on her upper arm shaking gently.

Asleep. She'd been--

She remembers running and blood and Valerie.

Her friends are already awake, Trixie and the Sister yawning away their lethargy, Phyllis sitting straight and stretching her back.

"Is Valerie's mother on her way?" Dr Turner asks gravely.

"She should be here by sunrise," Sister Julienne answers.

"Please tell us you have good news," Trixie requests.

"I'm afraid Valerie's injuries are extensive. We won't know if there's been damage to her spinal cord or if she's suffered a brain injury until she's brought out of sedation, and that won't be for a number of days. Her broken ribs and lung will heal given time but her leg will likely never be as strong as it once was. Her spleen ruptured and needed to be removed. She's suffered a lot of internal bleeding in the area, which Dr. Pran and Dr. Stevenson did their best to fix. They've both warned me there's a risk of Valerie's organs failing as a result. We should prepare ourselves for the worst."

The memory of Val, lit up by fireworks as something sparked behind her eyes, rushes to the surface.

Lucille stops breathing as the weight of his words crush.

_No._

_Please._

"I--someone needs to be with her," she manages.

"Of course."

\---

She stares through the window of Valerie's room long after Dr Turner leaves. Right now through the blurry perspective of the glass, it's just a woman tucked in a hospital bed, leg held up and in a cast. A bandage around a stranger's head. 

She almost envies the others for not seeing this.

But she knows Valerie needs someone right now. Even if she can't voice that request, Lucille knows it for sure. 

_Will do, boss._

She'll do this because she needs it too. It's what she can give her. She'll sit with her and pray and ask the Good Lord for help. 

The chair scrapes as she sets it as close as possible to the right side of the bed. 

Valerie's face is pale. There's an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth, helping her damaged lung. A bruise has spread across her left cheek, towards her jawline. There's a surface scratch there that Lucille hadn't noticed in her hurry. The bandage around her head is covering her left ear entirely, hair peeking out in stark contrast to it.

The neck brace is still the same.

The sheets and blanket are waist-high, away from her damaged chest. The tube Lucille inserted is gone. There's a bandage underneath her gown, bulky and misshapen.

A drip's in her arm. Keeping her away from consciousness.

Lucille takes in all these things in the space of a few seconds. She knows that this moment, tonight as a whole, will be with her for the rest of her life. 

She curves her hands around Valerie's right one. Brings it to her lips and ghosts a kiss across her knuckles.

_Why did You do this?_

_I don't understand._

_She's...she's the best of us._

_Why did You do this to Val?_

She opens her eyes, her gaze following the line of Valerie's cast, to the small trolley in the corner. There's a brown satchel there, simple twine holding it closed. Lucille knows Valerie's discarded clothes are inside. What's left of them. Her shoes are on top. 

A tattered white envelope is standing upright between them, blood along the corner. She can see her name in Valerie's handwriting, written in pencil. 

She whips her head back to Valerie, as if an explanation is coming, as if she'll wake and provide an answer. 

She's still. As still as Lucille's ever seen her. 

The memory of her friend lying on the cold road comes back. 

_Ledder...po--_

Letter.

It must've been in her pocket. 

She'd tried to tell her in amongst shortening breaths. 

Valerie wanted her to read it. 

What hadn't she been able to say? 

Lucille runs her mind over their interactions in the last few weeks. Thinks about the words she's used in the presence of Valerie, in response to Valerie. Had she said the wrong thing at Mrs Dyer's bedside? Done something Valerie hadn't liked?

Before the night had taken its terrible turn, they'd worked diligently to deliver Jonathan Blackwell. There was no hint of displeasure from Val. She'd been unusually joyous, the presence of new life a balm to her grief.

Lucille can't figure it out.

Valerie told her everything. Nights had stretched out into the early morning, on the couch, at the dining table, the two of them talking about home, about their childhoods, random things like how Valerie liked peanut butter on her pancakes and how Lucille secretly adored The Beatles. 

Her smile was easy with Valerie. Came easy when talking or laughing with her. Her heart settled in times of distress when she saw her. When Valerie defended her. 

She was light and profound and kind and funny and supportive and she was surely Lucille's best friend. 

She absolutely was, Lucille realises. 

_Is._

Is her best friend. 

She's still here.

"I'll make you a deal," she explains quietly. "I'll read your letter, and in return, you're gonna fight, as hard as you can for me. Does that sound fair?"

Lucille settles Valerie's hand on the bed, standing to retrieve the envelope.

She's just picked it up when the door to the room flies open, Valerie's aunt and uncle rushing through in a whirlwind of noise. 

Dr Turner, in the doorway, gives her a look of sympathy. 

Lucille politely takes her leave and steps out of the room, letter in her hand. 

\---

"Phyllis is driving Sister Julienne home--she thought it best to break the news in person to the Sisters."

Lucille's heart sinks as she slumps into the seat beside Trixie. "I'm supposed to be at the clinic at nine."

"Don't concern yourself with rosters right now--Valerie would want you here. Sister Julienne's planning on phoning Mother Mildred first thing, and we'll go from there."

Trixie's attention turns to the letter. Lucille sees some sort of recognition in her eyes, fleeting but there.

"Do you know what this is about, Trix?" Lucille asks. "Have I upset her?"

"Oh sweetie, that girl would love you even if you...ate all the violet creams in the world." Trixie smiles gently, before growing serious. "She's been dealt a bad hand lately...it's possible she wanted to thank you for your care of Mrs Dyer."

There's something in Trixie's tone that tells Lucille that's not what she believes the letter is about.

"She was trying to tell me about it before I had to...cut her open."

Trixie squeezes her arm reassuringly. "Go find somewhere quiet to read it, because it's important to Val that you do. Especially now."

"Will you come to find me if--"

"Of course. The moment anything changes."

\---

Nothing's changed. The door is still heavy to push, the room stuffy and windowless. But it had provided comfort to her after the lift malfunction, and now it's quiet enough for Valerie's written words.

Lucille sits on the front pew, setting the envelope beside her.

She brings her hands together and shuts her eyes.

_Dear Lord,_

_I implore you to help Valerie in her time of need. I know there's a reason You have done this, so please help me understand why. She is needed in this community. She is needed to help deliver your miracles of life. Her family has already lost so much this year. I beg of You once again to spare her family more pain and grief. I beg of You to spare me this pain._

_She is needed here. I need her here._

_Please Lord, have mercy on her._

_Amen._

Lucille opens her watery eyes. Looks up at the crucifix in front of her.

"Please."

She sits there for a long time, staring at it. Thinks about how comforting her faith is, how much joy she's gained from being in Pastor Palmer's congregation. How singing every Sunday has lifted her. How her heart had settled that first time, after Barbara's death.

The Good Lord had called Barbara back to His side. She hadn't known the reason why, but she'd trusted that it was a good reason. There was a beginning, a middle and an end to all things under God.

She thinks of Valerie, six months ago now, offering her the last of her violet creams.

_"Well, if ever there was a sign of true friendship,"_ she'd replied.

Her heart had warmed at Valerie smiling to herself, as if her comment had meant the world to her.

Surely that kindness still had a place in the world.

Surely He wouldn't--

The presence of doubt makes her sit up straight.

She'd thought about it before too. Had asked Him why he'd done this. What possible reason could He have had to harm Valerie in this way.

_I'm sorry, Lord. Please forgive me for my hesitation._

And yet, she still felt it.

She shakes her head and huffs out a breath. She's thinking too much, that's all.

_Read Val's letter and calm down._

She picks it up and looks at the dried blood on the corner. At the creases and folds in the envelope. Valerie's kept it in more than just her uniform pocket, she realises. She's kept it close.

_What on earth's so important you couldn't just tell me?_

She peels it open and pulls out the pages.

The blood's soaked into them, stiffening.

> Dear Lucille,
> 
> I'm sitting at my Gran's little table, with much to tell you. I'm afraid to get to that, I must start at the beginning. Cliche, I know, but necessary.
> 
> When I was young, I had a best friend called Sally Spencer. Her and I were inseparable, two peas in our own little pod. My mother used to tell people, "There ain't no Sally without Vally." I was an awkward kid, never particularly getting on with the girls in my class. They seemed superior in all aspects compared to me. Sally was the first friend I made, to be honest. A true friend. We kept to ourselves. We played board games and talked or read for hours, preferring the solitude of our rooms to outside. Mrs Spencer would get cross with us sometimes, and send us outside. My Mum never did mind, so we were generally at mine.
> 
> Before Sally, I think I was quite lonely. My sisters got along better together, despite the difference in age. I was too quiet for them, too much of a saint for their antics. I was on the receiving end of their tricks, mostly. An easy target. It wasn't really until I met Sally that I found the confidence I lacked. She was a welcome reprieve from my loneliness. She was wonderful.
> 
> I've gotten to the hard part now, Lucille. Please know that the next part I write has only ever been discussed between Gran and myself. She felt it was important to say.
> 
> Sally and I were close. We'd been friends for five years when something shifted around my twelfth birthday. Our closeness suddenly seemed
> 
> overwhelming, like I might drown in it. Profoundly important, like I might die without it. Hugs had come easy. A hand held. A tickle fight. They'd been so easy, and now they were weighted with something unsaid between us.
> 
> Sally kissed me the night after her--

Lucille stops reading, her eyes snapping up to the crucifix in front of her.

_No._

_This can't be--_

Her heart's thundering in her ears.

_No._

She remembers the deal she made:

_I'll read your letter, and in return, you're gonna fight, as hard as you can for me._

Valerie might not recover. Valerie was here because she'd eyed the Christmas pudding in the fridge at dinner. Because habit was habit with--

_No._

She will not speak ill of Sister Monica Joan.

Valerie's injured.

Her friend is injured.

And she's debating whether or not to keep her word to her.

_Read it right now and don't stop._

She owed her that much.

> Sally kissed me the night after her birthday. It felt right. Like my mind had finally caught up with my body.
> 
> Her father got a transfer to Warrington two weeks later, some last minute thing Sally had known nothing about. They packed up and were gone before I knew what was what.
> 
> I was devastated. I moped around for a long time after that.
> 
> But life has a way I guess. I'd always enjoyed school and learning, so I concentrated on that instead. Got going again.
> 
> I saw Sally the first day of army training. It seemed like fate had brought us back together once more, after years apart. We clicked right back into place.
> 
> The feelings I'd had for her were still there. She felt the same still. We picked our moments, sneaking around the barracks. It was amazing.
> 
> I told you about the Sister that hassled me in the army. I'm afraid I left out some details when telling you about her. I'm sorry for the omission Lucille. The truth is that Sister had her suspicions about Sally and I. What we were to each other. She bullied both of us because of it. It wasn't just because we were too rough for nursing. It was because we loved each other.
> 
> We bore her abuse for close to a year before Sally decided she'd had her share.
> 
> I never saw her again.
> 
> I stuck it out, determined more than ever to see it through, somewhat out of spite for her hurting Sally so much. I was heartbroken mostly; I'd lost her twice to things that were beyond my control.
> 
> I'm certain this has influenced my doubts in God and the church. Being an army nurse, we fixed the immediate problems of the body and sent people off with no thought to the follow up. It wasn't caring, it was curing, and I thought it was terrible. I'd been left to deal with that Sister by myself. My fellow nurses knew she was picking on me. They heard it in her tone with me. I went over her head and was dismissed as a liar. I was left on my own, like those people had been left behind by us.
> 
> The inquiry happened and then I left. Being at home brought back memories of Sally, and I'm sorry to say I drank myself stupid trying to forget her. I smashed two crates of beer against the back wall of the Sail that Friday night. Gran managed to get me upstairs, and it all came flooding out of me. I wept for Sally, and for myself, and then I slept the next two days away.
> 
> I pushed my heartache away from myself to get better. I knew I couldn't spend the rest of my days acting up. Getting drunk. I knew I couldn't do that to my family. I choose to lock it inside myself. To protect myself. From heartbreak and from outsiders judgments. I'd been burned already.
> 
> My Gran has only recently brought the subject up again, now that she's facing her own mortality.
> 
> I thought getting past Sally and that Sister was the hardest thing I'd ever do. I'm afraid it's watching Gran die.
> 
> I'm afraid it's also going to be the following words I write to you.

Lucille's stomach drops.

> The truth is, plainly as I feel it, I love you.
> 
> As much as I ever loved Sally.
> 
> Our friendship has meant the world to me these last few years and I am better for having you in my life.
> 
> I've been thinking about our time together lately. About how I feel when I'm with you. Up until now, I think I'd kept that out of my mind, subconsciously unwilling to let my heart go there, after the turmoil of my younger years.
> 
> But you've been kind. You've been supportive. You've been funny and lovely and I'm dumbstruck by how beautiful you are. The word dumbstruck is probably applicable to most things I feel in regards to you.
> 
> I'm confident, however, that I've always loved you. Right from that scraped knee.
> 
> I just didn't realise.
> 
> I know there's no situation in which you and I could be more than friends. I know that for sure and I respect it. I know your faith means a great deal to you. My inclinations are not what God wants for you. I know Cyril's in the picture. He's a kind man and cares for you deeply. You deserve to be loved and to find that yourself. You have. It's what I wish for you as your friend. 
> 
> I hope more than anything, given the subject matter of this letter, that you will keep my confidence. I do believe, at the very least, you respect me enough for this. The rest I'm not so sure about. I know that you hold your work in high regard. If you choose only to have a professional relationship with me, I will accept that. I will keep my distance. I know you will put our patients first. I intend to, as I've always done.
> 
> Lastly, if I ever do decide to give you this letter, please know it comes from a place of vulnerability. You'll be only the second person to have known me for who I am.
> 
> Be kind.
> 
> All my love,
> 
> Valerie.

Lucille comes back to the world, lungs burning for air.

_"I'm sure you'll feel it soon, Luce..."_

The memory of blue eyes blazing with love, as her own heart unexpectedly sped up, suddenly sets her world on fire.


	4. You know you've been entombed (in your own doubt)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not what she wants.
> 
> But she's a Dyer. 
> 
> She's used to digging in. 
> 
> She thinks of Sister Caroline, and decides:
> 
> _I'm winning this time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Swimming Lessons' by Lanterns On The Lake.
> 
> Jared Harris as inspiration for Valerie's Uncle Charlie.  
> Jason Watkins as inspiration for you'll find out.
> 
> This one was...a trip.
> 
> \--------------------------------------------------

The feeling of falling startles her from sleep.

Pain rushes through her body and settles inside her chest.

It hurts to breathe.

It hurts everywhere.

A familiar voice breaks through. "Wake up, precious."

Valerie opens one eye, observing a familiar crack running off towards a corner wall.

Her Gran's ceiling.

She opens her other eye and moves her head to the right. Lucille's peering back at her, incredulous. In her immaculate uniform, back-lit by the sun coming through the kitchen window, she's a sight for Valerie's sore eyes.

"Come on lazy bones, you're gonna be late."

Valerie's spine cracks as she sits up, her chest tight. Her eyes catch on the new kitchen table, laminex and steel where cheap wood had been. Two identical chairs there. Fresh flowers in a vase. The darkness of the walls is gone, burgundy wallpaper replaced with a white pattern. There's new curtains. Photos have been hung, neat on the far wall.

Valerie turns her head in the other direction. Lucille's bed from Nonnatus is beside hers, bed made. 

"We live here?" Valerie asks, eyes widening as she takes her friend in. "It was marked for demolition..."

Incredulity makes way for concern. Lucille's hand reaches up to touch Val's forehead, soft as a feather. "Are you poorly?"

She doesn't know.

"I feel like I've been run over."

Lucille laughs. "You enjoyed yourself last night, that's for sure."

Is she hungover?

Yes. 

That's what this is.

Maybe.

She can't recall what Lucille's referring to.

"Can you humour me?"

Lucille sighs and stands, walking toward the wardrobe. Another new addition to the room. "Your Uncle's retirement party. He and Pete decided to rope you and Edie into their pool bet."

_He and Pete._

_He and--_

"Charlie?" Valerie asks quickly, her heart leaping.

A uniform lands over her head, diffusing her joy.

"Are you sure you're fine?" Lucille questions her kindly, as if she hadn't just thrown the garment full force at her. Valerie sees the smirk there, nonetheless.

"I'm..."

She can't remember last night, or--

How her Uncle reappeared in her life--

Or how she's living with Lucille.

But she's--

Painless.

Nothing hurts. 

It's gone now.

As if it was never there in the first place.

"Okay. I'm okay."

\---

She is, right up until Lucille starts helping her get dressed. Pyjamas removed for her slip and underwear. Her stockings. 

It's far too--

Inappropriate is the wrong word.

They've never done this before. Lucille's fluttering around with no care to Valerie's state of undress, making the bed around her and feeding her cold toast as she buttons up.

Intimate.

It's intimate, like this is nothing out of the ordinary.

Her sweater goes on. Then Lucille's pulling at the cap over Val's hair, pulling out rollers and pins, smoothing down where necessary.

"Lucille," Valerie whispers.

"Phyllis will have our heads if we don't get going in the next five minutes." She smiles, lightly squeezing Valerie's ear between her finger and thumb. "Ask me later, okay?"

Lucille kisses her lightly, a simple peck on her lips, and Valerie forgets everything else.

\---

She's on a cloud.

Floating through the morning meeting, barely hearing a word Phyllis says.

Riding her way from patient to patient, comprehending requests and writing notes and cleaning wounds and delivering babies as if she's above herself. Both in and out of her body.

It's the strangest feeling.

\---

She stops down Gale Street in the late afternoon and knocks on a red door.

Her uncle's old place.

Charlie Dyer appears, gap-toothed and smiling, his bespectacled blue eyes full of love. Older. More lines to his face than Val remembers.

"Hello, darling--you look better than--"

Valerie wraps her arms around him, holding him tight as her eyes fill with tears.

"Well, I certainly won't say no to a hug from my favourite niece. Don't tell your sisters I said that."

She holds him for a long time.

He lets her.

\---

"So absolutely nothing?"

Valerie shakes her head, taking the cup of tea from Charlie. "Not last night, not how I'm living with Lucille in Gran's old place, nothing before this morning."

Her uncle sits down on the couch beside her, sipping his drink. "How very odd. And I'm living in St Albans?"

"Yes. You and the family fell out over..."

Her words drift off. She's not sure if--

"Richard and I, I suppose."

His eyes drift toward a collection of photo frames on the side table at the window. Valerie follows his gaze. There's a prominent gentleman Valerie's never seen before in most of them. She's smiling in some as well.

There's a photo of Charlie and Richard on her and Lucille's wall, coming into focus inside her mind.

"You're happy with him?'

He frowns at her. Adjusts his glasses. "I am. The Valerie I'm acquainted with knows that. You might say she learned how to be happy from my example."

"I'm happy," she says to herself, pondering the statement. She sips her tea.

"You are. The happiest I've ever seen you. Your Mum and I got a bet going about who's proposing first."

Valerie chokes on her tea, coughing liquid up her nose. Her uncle laughs, but sets both their cups on the coffee table and taps her on the back. She's still fighting to find her breath when she notices his wedding ring on the hand at her knee. She grabs it, inspecting the gold band. 

"What backwards era have you come from, my dear girl?"

"1965," she croaks out. "Just before Christmas."

She hasn't seen one decoration today, come to think of it.

"Today's the 20th of October, 1964." Charlie squeezes her hand. "What on earth is going on?"

Valerie goes still.

The day she and Trixie had gone to the Black Sail to find Teresa, bleeding--

"Is Gran alive?" 

_Holy--_

"Is Dad alive?"

Charlie's eyebrows raise. His worry mirrors Lucille's from this morning.

"Of course they are, you saw them last night. They're still at the Sail, in all likeli--"

Valerie stands suddenly, mind moving before her body's ready. She feels a sharp pain slice through her left leg, stumbling a little into her uncle.

"Easy now, cherub."

Her Dad's alive. His heart attack never--

Her Gran's--

Never been to prison. Never gotten sick.

Her and Lucille have the flat now, because she lives by the sea.

"I have to see them," she says.

Her leg is aching, an unknown pain accompanying her thoughts.

"Are you alright?" Charlie asks, his hand coming up to check her forehead.

"I'm fine." 

She shrugs him off, stepping back gingerly. She can walk. And if she can walk, she can ride her bike. "Thank you for the tea." She steps further back, before remembering his absence. The pain of it. She comes back to him and kisses him quickly on the cheek. "Love you, Uncle Char."

"Don't go scaring everyone like you've done me now."

"I won't."

\---

It hurts to pedal, but she manages it, limping her way to the Black Sail as the sun sinks towards the horizon.

She doesn't understand any of this.

Can't wrap her head around everything working out right.

Her Gran and Dad and Uncle Charlie here, two back from the dead and one back from exile.

Lucille and her, living together and in love. Living openly, like Charlie and Richard.

How warm these things make her feel.

It's perfect, is what it is.

She turns the last corner and sees the Sail, lights on already, a beacon in the darkening sky.

The trip with Trixie is yet to happen. Will never happen. She's not going to get a call tonight to attend to her aunt, to open that upstairs door and have her world come crashing down on her.

It's gone. Nothing more than a memory from a life she's beginning to think has all been a dream.

This is her life.

This is the one she has.

She hops off her bike and feels her leg throb as she puts her weight on it.

_Go away_ , she thinks. 

\---

Her eyes water the second she sees them.

"Are you getting your rags?" her Aunt Flo asks, amused. 

"Leave her alone, you," her Aunt Edie replies. "Just 'cos you haven't had 'em since the ice age."

Val laughs, along with her dad.

She hasn't been able to do that in eight years.

Can't quite believe it.

\---

Tuesday night dinners are something she and Lucille do apparently, her Mum pushing her back out the door half an hour later, with a _Lucille will kill us if you're late_.

"Lucille?" Val lifts her leg over her bike. "Sweet Lucille from Jamaica who can't stand killing cellar spiders?"

June huffs, reaching up to pick a bit of lint from her daughter's sweater. She points that same hand at her.

"Don't give that girl any cheek, ya hear? You got a good one there."

Valerie regards her mother, a small smile growing.

This is what this feels like, then.

\----

Her pain is gone.

Again.

It's perplexing.

Phyllis catches her inspecting her limb after she's finished disinfecting her kit.

"Problem, Nurse Dyer?"

She smiles reassuringly and shakes her head.

\---

The smell of jerk chicken is drifting down from the open door as she steps into the foyer. Valerie locks the door and closes her eyes. Breathes in the aroma as she contemplates the day she's had. Work had been rewarding, but it usually was.

Everything outside of that feels like her own secret miracle. Especially whatever awaits her upstairs.

Her heart's beating wildly at the anticipation.

\---

Lucille's humming softly, lost in the act of washing a dish as the food cooks in the oven. Valerie manages to quietly enter without disturbing her, and simply watches her daydream.

She doesn't know how they've gotten here. Who made the first move, or what their first date was like. How they came to share a home. But she knows she's in love. Her heart's racing. It had sped right out of her chest this morning, and again when they'd seen each other for lunch.

Their love for one another is a certainty; as sure as the blue in the sky and the green in the grass.

Their dinner's going to burn though if they stay like this. That's a certainty she can avoid.

She undoes her shoes and lets the second one fall loudly from her foot. Pads her way over to the oven.

Lucille still startles, coming back from where she's been with a jump, and then a smile.

"Hello, you."

Valerie smiles back, bending to open the oven door and inspect the food. "How did Mrs Carroll go?"

"Very well--" Lucille steps over and pointedly shuts it on her. "Had a boy. Oliver James. He'll be a bruiser for sure."

Valerie chuckles at Lucille's quip, straightening up. "You've been hanging 'round us Dyers too long. You'll be chugging beer and singing off-key Conway Twitty songs next."

Lucille grins and pulls her closer. "I'll leave the chugging to you, precious."

Valerie initiates the kiss, soft, tender. She feels Lucille draw her arms around her further, until she's locked in her grip.

She lifts her fingertips to touch Lucille's jawline. To know without a doubt she's here in this wonderful dream. 

"How. Long. Until. Dinner?" Val gets out between kisses. 

A tongue teases. Then lips pull away, a forehead settling along hers. Valerie opens her eyes to find those deep brown ones she loves looking at her. 

"Not long enough, I'm afraid."

The implication is clear.

They have, then. Lucille and her. 

_Of all the things to forget_ , she thinks to herself. 

A shiver runs down her spine. 

\---

First forkful of food nearly to her mouth, Valerie happens to look at Lucille, seeing the narrowing of eyes and downward turn of mouth.

She's forgetting something substantial.

_Oh._

_You fool._

She sets the fork down gently and takes Lucille's hands. "Sorry, hun. Go on."

Lucille says grace for both of them.

There's a cross right above the table, glaringly obvious had Val noticed it. Lucille's faith was still important to her. A decision to cohabitate together as a couple had seemingly not swayed that belief. It was admirable, really. Lucille had a big enough heart for both. Of course she did.

Val knows she needs to lower her head from the clouds and take in as much as possible if she's to understand this life she's leading now.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Lucille is quietly observing her, knife and fork motionless in her hands.

Valerie nods and finishes her mouthful. "You've outdone yourself with this meal, Lu."

\---

She gets to look around the flat when Lucille's downstairs having a bath. The room is brighter, warmer and cleaner than she remembers. Every new piece of furniture has its function. There are two mismatched armchairs in the far corner. Beside them is a bookshelf filled to the brim, novels stacked haphazardly on top of it. Space for any more is long gone. Valerie recalls Sister Monica Joan's similar set-up and smiles. Maybe she can find another knock-about somewhere in her travels. Or get Fred to bang one together.

The wardrobe houses both their clothes. There's still a distinct difference between their styles, Lucille's garments hanging further down on their hangers, while her hems are a little higher up. There are more pants on her side, and her blouses are plentiful, two facts she finds comforting.

_Still the same ol' me._

The photos are by far the best feature of the room. She knows when a few were taken, the others not. The Dyer clan comically squished into frame. Gran, Edie and her mum and dad at the beach. Her parents in front of their Frinton pub. Her favourite photo of her Dad, empty beer mug atop his balding head. Charlie and Richard. Lucille with her mother and father in a prominent but stiff snapshot. Herself with Trixie, candid. Lucille as a girl, beside her family and more importantly by the gleeful look on her face, a birthday cake. A dozen of Lucille's relatives and her, dressed up in their finest frocks and suits, pastor in the middle. Valerie and her family before Jeanette had gotten on the boat. 

A photo of her and Lucille takes pride of place in the middle, a sudden snap taken by a third party while their eyes had been on one another. She doesn't know the time or place of it, but it's surely after they'd gotten together. There's no gap between them, no hesitant space to be safe in. Adoration is shining in their eyes, a profound love shared.

Her heart soars, tears coming before she knows what to do with them. She lets them spill, rolling down her face.

_I'm free._

_I'm happy._

_Finally._

\---

Lucille notices her reddened eyes when she returns, but leaves the subject of them alone.

Her care for Valerie comes instead in a hand held while reading, in the extra spoonful of sugar in her tea, in the slow, languid kisses and caresses as they make love later that night.

The tears come again at the precipice, Val collapsing on top of Lucille, spent, forehead and heart safe under chin and arms.

"My love," Lucille gets out between hard breaths. "My wonderful, wondrous girl."

\---

_"You're the strongest out of us lot...always was. I never worried when you joined the army. I knew you were going to do big things. You were too kind and caring to just be a bar fly like me. Your Dad would be so proud of..."_

Valerie wakens in the night, groggy and disoriented, feeling a pulling burn along her ribs into her gut.

Her mind stumbles over the reason for it, a thought wishing it away as she rolls over and spoons Lucille instead.

\---

Her bladder wakes her, later, her head still heavy with sleep as she rolls away from Lucille to get up.

She comes back upstairs and comprehends the double bed in the darkness, where two singles had been.

Mind violently jarred awake, Valerie flicks the room light on.

There's a second bookshelf beside the original. A carbon copy of the first. Books rearranged in the two of them, neater than before. Valerie walks to it, hand lifting to knock the solid oak. The sound reverberates around the room.

Lucille sleeps on. Her earplugs have done their job against Valerie's snoring and now they're keeping her from this...

Oddity.

She'd thought they'd needed a new bookshelf. And the beds were impractical at best.

Has she...

Surely not. It was impossible to conjure things out of thin air. To change solid, material things like furniture.

Valerie runs her hand along a shelf. Pinches at the wood.

Yet here it is, from a thought of hers.

Her eyes drift to the new wallpaper.

She closes her eyes. Thinks:

_I preferred the burgundy._

She counts to three. Opens her eyes slowly. The wallpaper's changed. Deep, rich red. New.

Gran and her Dad are alive. Her uncle is here. And she can decide things with her mind.

\---

Lucille does not comment on any of it in the morning.

It simply is.

\---

It starts small.

Makeup applied with a wave of her hand. Turning the stove down without getting up. A lighter shade of toast in the morning. Done in secret, behind Lucille's back.

Then larger. Magically cleaning a patients boil. Winding the clock back to avoid Phyllis's condemnation. Disinfecting and disappearing her kit back to Nonnatus so she doesn't have to ride out of her way. Easing the pain of childbirth for Mrs Bloomington, then Mrs Johnston, then Miss Ravon.

Then, after a singular flight of fancy to Derbyshire after a comment made by Lucille, Valerie's giving them days off at a time. Whisking her away to Frinton and Paris and Venice. Picture perfect moments to share with her. No travel and no luggage. Lucille goes along with every plan, every change of scenery. Nights stretch out into endless mornings as they make love, again and again, all the time in the world at Valerie's fingertips.

It's perfect.

It would be perfect, if it weren't for the words she has to say. The words she has to think. When someone's confused, she helps them remember or forget. She spins new truths and half-truths and blatant lies. Her patients come easy; her friends and family less so.

\---

The pain continues to come. She wakes up to it most days, her head pounding as her whole left side sings in agony. There are remnants of conversations, of someone - no, more than one person - speaking to her as she breaks the surface of sleep. The eight seconds it takes for her to remember where she is, what she has and what she can do are the longest of the day. 

_Go away_ , she thinks.

She knows the pain means something. She knows it for sure. 

She ignores it instead. 

\---

No one objects. Not once. No one sees the changes she makes. The furniture and walls and food and clothes have always been, and always will be, the same to Lucille. Phyllis and Sister Julienne never question their days off. Trixie and the Sisters have always done nights.

It's helpful to her.

It's helpful to her and harmful to them and Val doesn't know how to stop it. To get it back to normal. The way it was before. She tells herself at night she wont change anything in the morning. Promises it to herself. Then the pain's back with the morning sun and it hurts and she loses all her resolve. The first domino falls, and the rest follow.

But it's not so bad. She loves Lucille and she has her family intact. 

It will do. 

\---

December comes, and with it, Barbara Hereward. 

She's at the fringes of Valerie's eyesight, simply there, quiet. Valerie tries to catch her with the turning of her head, but she never comes into focus. She lets her exist, despite the nagging feeling in her gut, because it's nice to see her face. Because she's missed her. 

\---

She's deciding between roast pork and fish and chips for dinner, opening the flat door, when she finds Barbara sitting in her armchair. Lucille's beside her, asleep in her uniform with an open book in her lap. 

"You need to wake up, Val," Barbara says. 

Her stomach bottoms out. 

Lucille doesn't stir. 

"I'm not the one asleep," she whispers, eyes on her love. 

"You know that's not true." 

Valerie squeezes her hand into a fist. "I have no idea what you're talking about." 

"You're a terrible liar."

"And you're dead."

Barbara smiles calmly and it infuriates Val. She turns away, ripping her scarf and cape off, throwing them at the coat rack. It rattles on its legs, swaying dangerously. 

_Don't move._

It stills.

Valerie looks at Barbara and reads the expression on her face:

_You know that's impossible to do. You know that._

"Go away."

She turns on her heel and exits the room. Stomps down the stairs. Conjures up a bath for herself, steam filling the room in an instant. She flicks her hand and she's naked.

It's far too hot, but she sinks down into it anyway, feeling the pain permeate her skin towards her bones.

_I can do this. I can do this._

_I'm not giving this up._

_I can bear it._

She lasts eight seconds before she has to think the water cooler.

\---

Footfalls sound a little while later, the door opening quietly to reveal Lucille, still sleepy. "Can I join you?"

Valerie nods. "Always."

She pulls the plug and lets out a little water. Watches as Lucille gets undressed and gets in. Feels her unease lower as a back settles against her. Valerie drops a kiss to her hairline, holding her tight.

"Long day?" Lucille's voice is barely there.

Valerie hums in response.

A chuckle. "Sounds terrible."

Her amusement, her lightness, her simply being her, brings a flood of tears to Valerie's eyes. 

She holds in a sob, desperately, biting down on her lip.

\---

_"If you can hear me, we need you, sweetie. She needs you..."_

\---

The next time Barbara appears, Valerie's in the clinic, taking Mrs Traver's blood pressure. She shrieks at her sudden presence, scaring the poor woman, Phyllis flinging the curtain back to see what's startled her.

"Are you alright, Nurse Dyer?" Phyllis asks, concerned.

Valerie looks between them and Barbara.

They can't see her.

_Of course._

"Nurse Dyer?" Phyllis calls her name, louder.

"I'm fine." She looks to her patient, patting her on the arm. "My apologies, Mrs Travers. I thought I...saw a spider."

Barbara stays there in view. Phyllis mulls over Val's answer, suspicious, before disappearing.

_Go away_ , she thinks to herself.

Barbara does not.

\---

She's a ghost. Some apparition only Val can see.

More alarmingly, Val can't get her to go.

No amount of silent mantra's, of yelled words, of begging pleas, can budge her.

"You have to face this, Valerie," Barbara tells her.

"I actually don't have to do anything."

\---

The days, fairly smooth, start to drag with her deceased friend's presence. 

Sleep is harder to find. Val is easily irritated as a result, snapping at people and then erasing it from their minds. 

It's not what she wants.

But she's a Dyer. 

She's used to digging in. 

She thinks of Sister Caroline, and decides:

_I'm winning this time._

\---

"You've been hit by a car. You're in Saint Cuthberts."

Barbara repeats some version of this every day.

It gets on her nerves each and every time.

"I think you'll find I'm standing in my flat," Valerie whispers, hanging the candy cane on the nearest branch.

"Did you say something, precious?"

Valerie drops her eyes to Lucille, kneeling close by, sorting through a box of Nonnatus secondhand ornaments.

"I think I'm gonna lay off these--" Valerie flicks the candy cane. "I'm getting fat."

Her words have the desired effect. 

Lucille grows serious. "What a load of rubbish."

Valerie chooses to argue about it with her because anything is better than having a conversation with a ghost.

\---

"What are your intentions, Valerie?"

"My intentions are to ignore you since you will not leave."

"And you don't think that that's odd, after all you've managed to pull out of thin air in the last two months? To get rid of?"

She knows why she can't get rid of her.

Of course she knows.

"I'm you," Barbara says, reiterating the fact.

"You're a flaming pest, is what you are."

It's starting to snow. Valerie's freezing, standing on her own doorstep in the middle of the December night like a damned fool. She'd tossed and turned in bed, too tired to deal with Lucille's worry. She'd slipped out as soon as her love's breathing had evened out. 

She's smoked eight cigarettes since then from her endless pack.

She's itching for a fight. 

"Why haven't you asked the heavens for another coat?" Barbara asks.

"Because I don't need one," Val spits out. "I can warm the air just by thinking about it. I'm a magician."

"Then why haven't--"

"Enough already!" Her anger erupts. "Leave me alone!"

"Not until you face the facts." Barbara steps closer. "You're dying in a hospital bed because you rode out in front of a car. You will die if you don't leave this dream world."

"So I'm just supposed to go back there, where I'm broken? Where I'm in pain?"

"Yes, because you'll cease to exist otherwise."

"Why would I want that life?!" Valerie shouts, flicking her cigarette away. "Why would I choose that rubbish of a life I had? I have to hide who I am! I have to deal with that _shit_ all by myself. Gran and Dad are _dead_." Her eyes fill with tears. "I have to watch the girl I love be happy with someone else. Why on earth would I take that over what I've created here?"

"Because you dying will break that girl. It'll destroy her."

Valerie laughs, watery and full of sarcasm. "If you're trying to make me feel as if I matter, then you can save it. You're me, and you're just trying to preserve yourself."

"So you want to die, then?" Barbara's voice is level. "Leave Lucille and your friends and family without you? Knowing how that felt after your Dad died? After what happened to me?" 

Valerie's mind flashes back to her despair after his passing. Hearing that phone call from her mother, frantic on the morning she'd found him cold on the kitchen floor. Long gone with the fridge still open. To Barbara in her hospital bed. To hearing Sister Julienne say her hands would never be the same. To the lost look in everyone's eyes afterwards.

How much it hurt. 

Tears are flowing down her cheeks, sobs breaking from deep inside of her. She's on the doorstep suddenly, legs failing under the weight. The cold is creeping inside of her.

Everything hurts. 

Sally. Sister Caroline and her hatred. Her Dad. Maureen's little boy. Gran. Lucille loving someone else. Being present in her life and still being a million miles away. 

It was all going to sting. It was all going to burn, the way her lungs are burning right now. 

Why was it on her to bend under that despair? Why was that her burden? 

Barbara sits beside her and Valerie sinks into her arms. 

It's comforting. As it always had been.

"How bad...am I?" she manages through a sob.

"You're in for a long recovery, Val. The bones in your leg snapped. You've got broken ribs and one punctured your lung. The internal bleeding you suffered is dangerous. Your spleen was removed. You'll have to be vigilant in regards to infections now."

Barbara pauses for a long moment. Valerie understands.

"You've got a four-inch wound to your head where it hit the windshield. Most of the force of the car was taken by your chest, thankfully, otherwise, you wouldn't be here. Your mother's going to insist however that it was your bowling ball skull that saved you."

Valerie laughs and cries harder. "I miss you. Why didn't I bring you back?"

"Someone had to be your reasoning...someone able to see the bigger picture. A friend."

Valerie wipes at her nose.

Barbara squeezes her shoulder. "This is not your time, Val." 

"But...I'm happy here." She holds onto it even as it's slipping from her fingers. Even as she knows the truth.

"No, you're not. Everyone here is a shell of themselves, imagined up by your memories of them. You know that."

"But I need them. I need Gran and Dad and Charlie and you and...I love her." Valerie swallows, fighting and failing against the lump in her throat. "I love her so much."

Fresh tears come. 

Barbara pulls away and looks her square in the eye. "Then come back to reality, and make sure she knows it."

"I can't do that to her. She's already happy with--"

"Think back to the night of the fireworks," Barbara interrupts. "Come on, close your eyes and picture it."

Valerie wipes at her eyes. Barbara is adamant she does what she's told, silently persuading her.

She closes her eyes and lets the memory come.

_"Cyril told me he loved me this afternoon."_

_Val looks down at her to find she's gazing upwards, unreadable expression on her face._

_..._

_"Did you say it back?"_

_A flicker of sadness crosses Lucille's face before it's gone. Before its schooled back into wonderment at the light show above._

_..._

_"I'm sure you'll feel it soon, Luce..."_

_Brown eyes meet hers, and her heart stops beating._

_..._

_There's something familiar there in Lucille's eyes, something reaching across the space between them to envelop, to comfort, to hold._

_Love._

_Profound._

_Pure._

_The same._

Valerie's eyes fly open. Energy courses through her, legs carrying her to her feet.

Barbara's there. Steady and waiting already.

"Did she feel it?" Valerie asks, breathless. "For me?"

"You know it's a possibility, Val. You knew that when you decided to talk to her over that pudding. You just didn't get there."

Her mind's going haywire with the possibility that, that--

But it's for certain here. Lucille loves her for sure here.

Except it's not the truth.

The truth, whatever it is, is waiting for her back home.

"I have to go back, Barbara. I have to go back."

Barbara steps to her, hands coming up to take Valerie's. "You won't remember this. You'll be going back to the way things were. The way things are. I meant it when I said you have a long road ahead of you. You have to be brave. You have to be strong."

She mulls over the words for a long time. Wonders if she has it in her to restart her life. To be resilient against the obstacles her crash has caused.

To go back to missing her Dad. Missing her Gran.

"I need to see them," she says quietly.

Barbara smiles, soft. "They're just inside. Do you want Charlie as well?"

Val thinks, then shakes her head. "As soon as I'm better, I'll find him. Tell him we're the same. Tell him I still love him."

"Good. He probably needs to hear it. Don't be too long, okay? Life's waiting for you on the other side of the sunrise."

Valerie holds their hands up to check Barbara's watch.

It's 3:08am.

A few short hours.

"Be brave, Val."

Valerie hugs her, holding her close. "I'll never be as brave as you."

\---

Her Gran and Dad are sitting halfway up the stairs, waiting for her in the warmth of her home.

Gran's home. Not hers. 

Val sits between them on the step below, leaning her body into the easy embrace they offer.

"You're a remarkable young woman," Elsie says.

"The best girl," her Dad adds, kissing her on the forehead.

Val's eyes water. She knows this is in her head. She accepts she's simply telling herself what she needs to hear, but she knows the both of them would be echoing the sentiments. They had done so throughout their lives, right up until...

She looks up at her Gran. "You were an amazing grandmother. Thank you for lov--" Her voice breaks, but she knows she must get it out. "Loving me the way I needed. All of me."

She turns to her Dad, sweet and rough and hard and kind. Draws a hand to his cheek. "You were loving and overbearing and I always wished you'd understood me better. But everything I did, every achievement I ever had, or will have, is in your honour. You're the greatest man I've ever known, and I love you."

"I'm going to need your help with this," she says to both of them.

"You've got all you need, baby girl."

"My sweet Val...you're gonna be alright. Us Dyers always are."

\---

She climbs the stairs the rest of the way, pausing at the door.

Now for the hard one.

She glances back down the stairs.

Her grandmother and father smile assuredly one last time at her, and then are gone.

\---

Lucille stirs as Val eases herself in beside her. An arm wraps around her, hand settling on her hip.

"Love you."

It's a whisper on Lucille's lips, sleep chasing it off into the distance.

Valerie eases her closer. Regards her in the silence.

She has so many things she wants to tell her.

So many words to say.

She begins with three.


	5. Of all the sinners (you'd hoped to meet)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her skin is so pale. Almost see-through. She counts the freckles along her arm, once, twice, three times. They're prominent, now more than ever. 
> 
> She marvels at the delicacy of Val's hand. At her elegant fingers. 
> 
> So many babies have come into the world, guided by those hands. They were essential to the world. To Poplar. 
> 
> They were essential to Lucille.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'This Is Not A Drill' by Lanterns On The Lake.
> 
> Last one. Dialogue heavy.
> 
> (Talking about religion as an atheist/agnostic is a hard task)
> 
> Comments welcome.
> 
> \----------------------------------

_Something is off._

_Valerie's face is pale and bare and she looks exhausted._

_Lucille mouths 'what's wrong' at both of them, concern spiking when neither of them can hold her look._

_She hears the grief in the small way Valerie says her name later on. In the way Trixie hovers close, prepared to steady her._

_"Look, I'll rip the bandaid off 'cause it's you. My Gran's the one that's been performing the abortions in the area."_

_It stuns her for a moment, then she's reaching for Valerie's hands, to comfort. "I'm so sorry, precious."_

_"Not half as sorry as I am."_

\---

Her knees hit the floor. 

She feels the sting as her weight falls on the bandage. 

It'll bleed through. 

She can't find it in herself to care. 

Eyes squeezed shut and hands clasped together, she falls forward to pray for this to disappear. 

\---

She stays there long after her legs have gone numb and her back has started aching. 

This isn't--

She isn't--

It simply cannot be. 

\---

She's woken by the chapel door scraping the floor slowly. 

Valerie. 

She sits up like a shot, head turning to find Sister Monica Joan shuffling towards her. 

"I do not come bearing bad news, dear child--I felt as if you may need assistance in your endeavour to pray for His help. Nurse Franklin indicated your delay in this matter." 

The sister's eyes fall to the letter on the floor beside her, where she'd dropped it in her haste. Lucille grabs at it, folding it up and tucking it away in her closed hands. She struggles to get up, letting herself fall back into the seat behind her. She slips the letter into her cardigan pocket as Sister Monica Joan sits beside her. 

"What time is it?" Lucille asks, hoping the change of subject will distract the sister. 

"Terce will be upon us in little over an hour. I shall say my prayers here, where Nurse Dyer will benefit from them." 

She's been asleep for hours. Valerie's mother is surely here with her by now. Something settles in her chest at the thought, even as the feel of the letter at her side reminds her of--

The fireworks in Valerie's eyes. Of how she could not look away from the blue there. 

It's not right. 

She cannot feel that. 

Not for her. 

Not for Valerie. 

"You are weighed down by a deep despair," Sister Monica Joan says. "It is radiating from you."

Two warm hands encircle one of hers, and it's her undoing. 

The tears come, unbidden and real. 

"I'm sorry," she gets out, wiping at her cheeks, a futile motion as she tries to get a hold of herself. 

She can't let this out. She can't let anyone know. 

She has Valerie's confidence to keep. 

She has her own to keep. 

"Break, break, break, on thy cold gray stones, o sea," Sister Monica Joan quotes Tennyson to her. 

"And I would that my tongue could utter, the thoug--" Lucille's voice breaks on the word. She lets out a shuddering sob. 

_The thoughts that arise in me._

Sister Monica Joan says nothing. Simply holds her hand as she cries. 

\---

A steady stream of Valerie's relatives visits her over the day, the hallway ebbing and flowing with people she recognises from Mrs Dyer's funeral. Trixie and her sit among them, waiting for a change in Valerie's condition.

There is none.

Trixie takes every hour as a good sign.

Lucille remembers Barbara, and how they'd all thought she was getting better.

She keeps the memory to herself.

\---

Phyllis persuades her back to Nonnatus for a bath and food, with the promise that Trixie will stay in case of news. 

Dinner is a subdued affair, stalled conversations floating over her head as she chews listlessly, tasting nothing.

The Christmas pudding is set on the table for dessert.

She excuses herself quickly, tripping a little in her hurry to get away. She ends up in the chapel, collapsing into the same seat Val had sat in, before her leave of absence.

Before the letter.

It was upstairs now, tucked away in her cardigan at the back of her drawer.

She isn't going to carry it around like Valerie.

She isn't going to acknowledge it after the morning's tears with Sister Monica Joan. Not after spending the day knowing Trixie was on the verge of asking about it. Lucille had allowed herself to be drawn into conversations with Pete and Grace, with Edie, with relatives she can't recall the names of, to avoid one with Trixie.

She's going to sit here instead and pray for Valerie's recovery and focus her energy on that alone.

She's not going to think about Valerie's words and how they make her ache.

\---

It's all she does.

\---

Sister Julienne and Phyllis try to get her to retire to bed, but she refuses, pointedly.

"I need to be there." Lucille winds a scarf around her neck. "I know everyone's schedules were thrown into disarray with the three of us--"

"My concern for you and Nurse Dyer," Sister Julienne interrupts, "is of a personal nature, first and foremost. The Sisters have reiterated their conviction in taking on your patients at this time, and Mrs Turner has offered up her services. I simply want you to look after yourself in this trying time."

"I appreciate your concern, but this is my fault, and I intend to make sure Valerie's supported by me in recompense. It is the right thing to do."

She turns her attention to slipping on her coat. 

She'll walk if she has to, even in this rain.

\---

"Is that what the pudding was about?" Phyllis asks her in the car on the way back.

She nods, eyes on the droplets rolling down the windshield. 

She can feel Phyllis's eyes on her every so often.

"Valerie wouldn't want you to fret over her. Please remember that." 

Lucille says nothing in return.

\---

Visiting hours are long over, the hallway deserted except for Trixie. 

"Mrs Dyer has cajoled the nurses into letting her stay...no wonder Val has a tenacity streak."

Lucille sits down once her friends have departed, feeling the strain in her neck from falling asleep in the chapel. 

She won't do that again. It was disrespectful.

At least she has her church bag, now.

She pulls out her bible and begins to read to herself.

Familiar words, now made foreign by her heart.

\---

She dreams of Valerie sitting at her gran's side table, writing and writing and writing, even as her hands start to bleed from the effort. Lucille tries to get her attention, tries to stop her from spilling her secret, from doing this to them.

From planting this idea in her head.

\---

She wakes to a night nurse shaking her gently.

"Nurse Anderson, Mrs Dyer is asking for you."

Her stomach drops, eyes going wide.

The nurse squeezes her arm. "Please don't be frightened, Nurse Dyer is fine for the moment. Mrs Dyer just wants you to come sit with them."

Lucille breathes out, standing on unsteady feet. She looks at her watch. It's nearly midnight. 

"I didn't know she knew I was here."

"We relayed your whereabouts to her," the Nurse says kindly. "The room's small, but the lights are kept to a minimum. The seats are marginally better as well."

"Thank you. Thank you for looking after Valerie."

She smiles. "Nurse Busby held her in high regard when she worked here."

Lucille walks with her through the doors, down the silent hallways.

"How is Valerie doing from a medical perspective?"

There's a pause from the nurse, potent. Lucille's heart clenches. 

"She's had tachycardia for most of the day, and her urine production is down. I'm afraid she could still be heading towards hypovolemic shock."

"She's been given extra blood?" Lucille asks, her voice shaky.

"She has. Since this morning. We're monitoring her vitals regularly, but I'm afraid the battle is squarely on Nurse Dyer's shoulders. I hope she's as strong as her mother says."

"She is." 

Lucille states it assuredly.

She has to be.

\---

Her eyes find Valerie immediately as she steps through the door of her room. There's a new IV line attached to her, blood running down a tube towards her arm. It's almost black in the light from the lamp by Valerie's side.

She stands just inside as Val's mother smiles politely at her, getting up to greet her. The nurse turns the room lights on and starts her checks. 

"I don't want to intrude, Mrs Dyer," Lucille says, fiddling with the handle of her bag.

"I can't have you waiting out there, being uncomfortable--Valerie will have my head."

They share a pained smile.

"My daughter thinks the world of ya, so it's only right for you to be here."

Lucille's heart aches at June's words.

She watches the nurse's facial expressions for worry. She either has none, or knows Lucille is searching for them.

"Better or worse?" June asks her when she's done. 

There's a hopeful tone to the question that brings tears to Lucille's eyes.

"Steady, Mrs Dyer. Your daughter is steady."

It's clear June has been hearing this all day.

"Thank you, Nurse," Lucille says, prompting her to depart with the closing of the door.

She watches Mrs Dyer sit back down in her seat, taking hold of Valerie's hand.

"My beautiful girl," she says.

Lucille feels a tear fall down her cheek. She wipes it away quickly.

There's a spare seat on the other side of the bed on Valerie's left side.

"Would you like the light on or off, Mrs Dyer?"

"Off...unless you--"

"I'm fine with the darkness."

She turns it off, glad for the lamp and the outside hall light muted through the window. The shadows loom large across the room, partially hiding the brown satchel and Valerie's shoes from view.

She thinks of the letter, sitting upright there, before she'd read it and her--

_Stop thinking about it._

Lucille sits down carefully, with her back to those shoes.

With her back to the memory.

Her hands twitch in her lap. All she wants to do is hold Valerie's hand.

June yawns. Lucille can see how tired she is.

"Don't be surprised if I fall asleep on you, love...it's been a long day."

"It would be quite acceptable, given your travel this morning." She yawns in response. "I may do the same."

"At least we won't have to put up with my daughter's snoring in this state."

They both fall silent, their eyes slipping to Valerie in the middle. She sleeps on, unaware of them in the room. 

Long minutes pass as they watch her.

"Doctor Turner told me you helped Val after the accident. That she most likely wouldn't be here without it."

Lucille's mind goes back to the scalpel and the blood, flowing out of Valerie too fast.

She needs to tell June the truth.

"We were both at a delivery, and I told her to go back early...it's the reason she's here. This is my fault."

June regards her in the half-light, so much like her daughter that Lucille feels exposed in the familiarity of it. They have the same enquiring eyes.

"I know my daughter would never blame you--she has too big a heart for that--so I won't either. It was an accident. No more needs to be said about it, Nurse Anderson."

Lucille feels her bones sink beneath her skin.

\---

The nurses come in on the hour.

She wakes up every time.

\---

The sound of June speaking quietly to Valerie pulls her from her restless slumber. 

Lucille keeps her eyes closed and herself still, not wanting to disturb them.

"--much like Charlie. Every time I look at you, he's there looking back. You think I don't see, but I do. I'm your Mum."

The sound of soft crying grips Lucille's heart.

She aches from it.

She aches for that woman two feet away from her.

She can't ache for her.

Not like that.

Her tears leak from her closed eyes in the darkness.

She doesn't sleep after that.

\---

Cyril has telephoned overnight.

She does not ring back.

\---

"Is it okay if we talk?"

Lucille turns on the pew to find Trixie, paused in the hospital chapel doorway, waiting for a reply. 

No.

"Of course," she says instead, readying herself for a conversation she doesn't want to have.

Trixie sits down beside her, facing towards her.

"How are you feeling?"

Lucille's honest. "I'm tired."

"Your stamina is admirable, but also..." Trixie pauses, mulling over her words. "We're worried for you."

"There's no need for your concern, Trix. My only priority is making sure Valerie comes out of this."

Her friend draws her hands together and rubs at the base of her thumb. A nervous tic.

"I know you don't wish to discuss the matter, but...I just wanted to make sure you know if you want to talk, I'm here. For anything you may wish to say."

The letter.

"Valerie was...since she came back home, I've heard her lifting her mattress of a night to, I suppose hide whatever it was from my knowledge. I didn't know it was the letter, but I knew it was important to her. I would never betray her. Her secrets are hers to keep."

She hears the double meaning in her friend's words. 

Lucille says nothing. Stares at the cross in front of her instead.

"Right now, with her here...it's important you make your peace with it. It might be too late otherwise."

Lucille clenches her jaw. She turns her head to look her companion in the eye.

"I'd like to get back to my praying now if that's alright."

She drops to her knees and clasps her hands together, signalling the end of the conversation.

The chapel doors close moments later.

She sinks her forehead down to the floor. Feels the twinge at the base of her back, holding herself in the position as penance.

_Lord, please hear me now._

_Take these feelings away from me._

_They will not be accepted by--_

She thinks of her parents.

Of the people in Pastor Palmer's congregation.

She thinks of Valerie before bingo, lip bitten, eyes shining back at her.

Valerie, joking about scrabble before opening up about her past.

A half-truth offered, even though it must've hurt to say. To talk around Sally.

For the sake of helping Lucille.

_I knew I couldn't do that to my family. I choose to lock it inside myself. To protect myself._

_I knew I couldn't do that to my family._

_I knew I couldn't do that to my family._

Valerie's words repeat in her head.

_Please, Lord._

_Please._

\---

Valerie's condition holds, but her skin has cooled significantly. 

"She's always been so warm," June says when she sees Lucille that evening. "Like a little hot water bottle..."

The warmth from the night of the fireworks flares in her memory, those eyes--

_Stop it._

"It's the body's way of keeping blood flow where it's needed. It's a good...it's standard, Mrs Dyer." 

\---

Lucille learns about Valerie's broken arm at fourteen, diagnosis delayed by two days because of her stiff upper lip. How well she did at school. The time she made herself sick after downing four sherbet fountains on a dare from her sisters.

Lucille tells Mrs Dyer about Valerie delivering a baby and assisting in the mother's appendectomy in the lighthouse in Scotland. The time she'd mistaken a jar of Lucille's Habanero jam for marmalade. Her atrocious off-key attempt at 'Maria' after too much rum and chocolate.

Lucille notices June standing more, coming back to sit with a pinched look, rolling her shoulders. She's clearly suffering some sort of pain. 

"Are you alright, Mrs Dyer?" 

June smiles, but there's no warmth to it. 

"Every time you call me Mrs Dyer, I think you're talking to me Mum. Call me June, dear. Please." 

She never answers Lucille's question. 

It's clear by the morning, however, that it's begun to hurt significantly. 

"Doctor Turner can see you about your back if you'd like."

"I'm just missing my bed, is all. It acts up now and again."

"Is there room for you to stay at the Black Sail, with Edie? Or perhaps I could have a word with the Sisters about you getting some rest at Nonnatus."

"I don't want to leave Val without...I love my sisters, but they're not exactly the warmest of people. Val needs someone to talk to her. Someone to love and care for her."

The statement catches Lucille off guard. She holds her breath.

"Would you be able to--one of us can be there during the day and--"

_No._

_I can't be with her alone._

_I can't--_

Valerie's mother is waiting for an answer.

"Of course, Mrs Dyer. Whatever you need."

For Valerie.

\---

She comes back to Nonnatus to find Mother Mildred with Sister Julienne and Phyllis, their conversation from the kitchen catching her ears.

"--injuries are too detrimental to her performing her duties in a satisfactory manner, she will have to tender her resignation. The budgetary constraints are already stretched thin as it is."

White-hot heat flows through her.

"She's a blood transfusion away from her death bed," Lucille angrily explains, stepping into view, feeling her nails dig into her squeezed fist.

"Nurse Anderson, I understand you have a personal connection to these circumstances, but--"

"Her name is Valerie, and she's not a circumstance. She's the best nurse the East End will ever have, and your--"

"Nurse Anderson, that will do," Phyllis says, coming towards her and pulling her out of the room.

"How dare she decide these things when Valerie's not here to defend herself." Her eyes are welling with tears, her anger compensating for something broken deep within her.

Phyllis directs her upstairs to their room.

"Mother Mildred's concern for Valerie was discussed at length when she arrived...she's here to help, Lucille. You know Valerie will be out of commission for months with her broken bones. We have to consider all the options. You need to rest now, get your pyjamas on and settle into bed."

And because she's so worn out, because she trusts Mrs Dyer to call if anything happens, she lets Phyllis fuss over her. 

"June will call if something--can you please make sure--" 

"I promise, lass. Hop into bed now." 

She does so, letting herself get tucked in. Her eyes are spilling quiet tears she can't hold back. Her mind is sinking down into a fogginess she--

"She can't die, Phyllis, she can't--I love..." 

The darkness swallows her. 

\---

She wakes just as the sun is setting, the beginning of a headache just behind her eyes.

It worsens as she's told Cyril had stopped in, wishing to check up on her while she'd been asleep.

"He was quite worried for Valerie's well-being, and for you," Sister Frances tells her. "I told him I'd pass on his consolations, and also that you were most likely to miss your date tonight."

_Oh._

It was the 23rd of December, then.

They'd scheduled it on the night before the fireworks. Time together before the festivities and church services were upon them. 

It hasn't even crossed her mind. 

\---

"We should be seeing improvement in Valerie's condition," Dr Turner explains. "The level of blood needed by her body has been replenished, and her blood tests have come up negative for lactate and toxins. She's stagnating for some reason. It may be the painkillers she's on, but her skin should've returned to its proper temperature and the tachycardia should be gone."

"What does that mean?" Lucille asks.

"Will my girl be alright?" June adds. 

"Her recovery is still a waiting game...it's very much up to Valerie." 

\---

She keeps the light on in the room, hearing it hum in the silence.

Simply looks at her. 

The bruise on her cheek has yellowed. 

Her skin is so pale. Almost see-through. She counts the freckles along her arm, once, twice, three times. They're prominent, now more than ever. 

She marvels at the delicacy of Val's hand. At her elegant fingers. 

So many babies have come into the world, guided by those hands. They were essential to the world. To Poplar. 

They were essential to Lucille. 

Val showed appreciation, warmth, care and love with those hands. She reached out freely to strangers, to friends and family, to comfort, to assure. 

They were an extension of her heart. 

She has to hold that hand. She has to. 

Lucille reaches forward, wrapping her fingers around Valerie's, palm along the top of them. Her thumb settles on top of Valerie's knuckles. 

She's so cold. So unbelievably opposite of what she normally is that Lucille's eyes water. 

"You're needed in this world, Valerie." Her voice is rough. "So many people need you here."

_I need you here._

"I need you here. I'm not sure I'll..."

She won't.

_Will do, boss._

The guilt will--

The guilt already has. 

"I will never forgive myself if you...if I don't have the chance to..."

Apologise.

_Tell you I feel the--_

"You're my best friend. At the very least, you're that. Everything else you told me in your letter, I can't return. I can't." 

Even if she feels it, she can't. 

\---

Valerie's mother comes with Val's aunts in the morning, flasks and cake tins in hand. They're set on giving Val some Christmas Eve cheer, even in her unconscious state. Flo says she intends on being as loud as possible, in the hope Valerie wakes up just to tell her to be quiet. 

Lucille's glad she's leaving to get some sleep. 

Snow has fallen overnight. There's a deep chill in the air as Lucille exits the hospital, Phyllis waiting in her car to keep the engine warm.

"I appreciate this, Phyllis--thank you."

"That's quite alright, lass. How's Valerie?" 

Lucille sighs. "She's still...meandering."

Phyllis pauses, hands on the steering wheel. She looks like she's considering something.

Lucille puts her seatbelt on, hoping the action will jar her friend into pulling away from the curb. To get her away from whatever she's thinking. 

"Nurse Dyer reminds me a lot of Nurse Mount." Phyllis is looking out the windshield. "She kept her cards close to her chest too. But she's happy...because she let those cards down once in a while. She found someone to let her cards down with." 

Lucille's heart is racing. It had raced as Trixie tried to talk to her. What has she let show, for them to understand--

"They're happy because they chose to be." 

She remembers Phyllis's joy at Nurse Mount and Busby's Christmas card. How it had been displayed on the fireplace mantel. She'd heard stories of them, recollections of who they were from Trixie and Val. She'd guessed what they were to one another at the time. She wasn't naive. 

But this was different. This was Val. This was--

Them. 

"I didn't get much sleep last night, so if we could get going, please." 

"Of course." 

The subject stays in the space between them, nothing said for the trip back to Nonnatus.

\---

She goes straight to the chapel, heart heavy with a weariness that isn't just exhaustion. 

The sisters are in morning prayer. Lucille sits in the last row, observing them quietly. Trying to draw strength from them. 

She wonders if they've worked it out, like Phyllis and Trixie. If they're aware of what her profound fear for Val's life means.

Her heart won't calm down at the thought. 

\---

It's where Cyril finds her an hour later.

He sits a seat away, leaving room between them. 

She can't stand this feeling any more. 

The solution is clear. 

"If you ask for my hand in marriage, I'll say yes." 

She's yet to look at him properly, her eyes on the seat she thinks of as Valerie's. 

She hears him exhale. 

"Lucille, we could spend a whole lifetime together, and you still would never look at me the way you looked at her that night. The way you always have."

It takes her a moment to comprehend, then her head's snapping his way, taking in his kind face and assured eyes. 

"Cyril..."

"It's okay. You deserve to be happy with the person you love."

"But it's not...my parents will never accept it. It's a sin." 

"Let us love one another, for love is of God and every one that loveth is born of God, and knoweth God."

John 4:7.

Lucille's head drops. 

She's so tired. Tired of fighting this. Tired of trying to be happy with him, because it was expected. He's been kind and caring, a decent man, but she has never loved him. 

Not in the way she loves Valerie. 

"You moved halfway around the world to have a good life." Cyril reaches for her hand, coaxing her to look up at him. "Don't you think that means something? That you were destined to find her? That the Lord made it so?" 

Tears have sprung to her eyes. She can see how certain he is of his words through the water. How certain he is of the Lord's intentions. 

"I'm sorry." She means it. 

He pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket and hands it to her. She wipes her eyes. 

"I am too." 

There's a long moment of silence, but it's comforting. They're finally on the same page. 

\---

She's walking him to the front door when the phone rings, Sister Julienne answering quickly, Lucille seeing the change in her face.

Her heart's suddenly in her throat. 

"Valerie has deteriorated--you need to get to the hospital now." 

"I'll take you, Lucille," Cyril says. "Rug up, it'll be cold." 

\---

She can't run fast enough. 

She can't think. 

She can't breathe. 

Dr Turner is there, trying to console Valerie's aunts and mother in the hallway.

"What happened?"

"An infection's developed in Valerie's leg. A visual check's been impossible due to the cast, but a blood test half an hour ago picked it up. There's swelling and redness at the incision where her bones were fixed. A heavy dose of antibiotics has been administered, but given her circulation has slowed and her body's still weakened, I don't know if it will help."

"Will she die?" Edie asks. 

Lucille sees him pause.

"The chances of her surviving the night are very low. I'm so very sorry."

June sobs, falling further into her sisters' arms. 

Lucille's world shrinks down to her heartbeat thundering in her ears. 

_No._

\---

June insists they go in together, something in her eyes telling Lucille she's aware of the importance of Val to her. 

She's quietly holding Val's hand, sometime later, when June looks at her and asks outright: 

"In what way do you love my daughter?" 

_I'll rip the bandaid off 'cause it's you._

Valerie's voice in her head gives her strength. She doesn't hesitate in answering: 

"In every way." 

June's eyes water and she wipes at them, gaze moving back to her daughters face. Lucille knows she has something important to say, so she waits. 

"My father was a hard man. Things had to be a certain way in our family. My brother Charlie...he was kind and soft. That got under my Dads nerves. Men were supposed to be loud and tough, and throw their weight around to show dominance. That was the opposite of who Charlie was. 

"Twenty years ago he came to the pub and told my parents he and Richard were in a relationship. They'd been best mates since school. I had a five-minute crush on Rich back then, before Keith came along. He knew all us Dyers. He knew my kids. 

"There was a fistfight between my dad and brother. Charlie left with a busted cheekbone and I never saw him again. No one ever did. He was not to be mentioned. As far as my father was concerned he only had one son, Pete. It wasn't right but that was the kind of man my father was."

_Every time I look at you, he's there looking back. You think I don't see, but I do. I'm your Mum._

"You know Val is like her uncle," Lucille says. 

June nods. "She never liked any boys at school--not in the way her sisters were mad on them. She went off to army training and--came back different. Subdued. Like a light had dimmed inside of her. She had a rough time for a bit. There was the odd date, mostly sons or nephews of someone my sisters knew. Val mostly went along with it to appease them. No one stuck. 

"I worked it out a long time ago. I don't know if my sisters or brother have. I've never had the guts to..."

June's voice trails off and she brushes her eyes again, sniffling. 

"To ask her outright...and now she's here." 

She's suddenly overwhelmed with tears. 

Lucille reaches a hand over Valerie, to comfort. June takes it, squeezing.

She decides to tell her what she knows. 

"Valerie wrote me a letter while she was still looking after her grandmother...Elsie was a great source of comfort to Val in those last days they had together. They discussed Valerie's feelings. She was very thankful for that. She'll be grateful for your love as well." 

June cries harder at her words. Lucille squeezes her hand. 

"She's the kindest, most wonderful person I've ever--" 

Lucille loses herself then, a sob escaping her as her heart collapses in on itself. 

\---

Silence slowly envelops them, the sound of Valerie's breathing their only anchor. 

Lucille prays.

_I love her._

_I love her._

_She's the best part of me._

_Please don't do this._

_Not when I've just found her._

_Please._

_I love her._

"You and I are going to have the most wonderful life together," Lucille whispers to Val, gently kissing her hand. She holds it to her cheek. 

"We'll find a place of our own, somewhere that's just ours. It'll have a decent kitchen for me to cook in. I'll teach you how to properly season food. We'll invite your Mum over for the holidays, and Trixie and Phyllis for mid-week game night. Maybe we'll get a cat. You'll read every book I've ever recommended to you. I'll help you wallpaper again when you get sick of the colour because let's face it, you'll be changing things every two years."

She kisses her hand again. 

"Whatever the colour, whatever the furniture, it will always be full of warmth and love. As long as we're together, I'll be happy." 

Lucille imagines it play out in her mind. 

Holds onto the hope for it, as it slips away. 

\---

Something meets the skin of her fingers, the feeling foreign, Lucille's exhausted mind not understanding the meaning, the reason behind--

An impulse fires over a synapse in her mind, and it slams into her, waking her. 

Valerie's skin is--

Lucille touches her forearm, feeling the warmth. Trips on the chair in her hurry to stand, touching her cheek. Warm. 

June has woken and is feeling Val's other arm, looking at Lucille to question if--

"She's warm, June. She's warming up."

\---

The antibiotics take care of the infection, Valerie's circulation mysteriously restarting, her vital signs improving each day. 

Lucille and June are there when she opens her eyes, awareness muddled. 

"Don' cry," Valerie gets out, slow and strained. 

It only makes them cry harder. 

\---

Lucille will consider it a Christmas miracle for years to come. 

Valerie will too. 


End file.
